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Fantasy Drabble #303 "Having Flown"

Her wings flared, she caught air, and we slowed precipitously; I feared I would be pulled from her grasp to dash myself to bits on the ground below. But her grip was tight — painfully tight, though I minded not at all — and in a moment we were down, bare feet on cool wet morning grass.

The townspeople appeared in doorways, began assembling. My knees were weak, and I sat down. She gazed down at me, head framed by white wingtips, and asked, "All right?"